You will love me and I will not​
understand how you can see worth​
in eighty pounds of cuts and scars​
engraved like small, secret tattoos.​
wrong art hidden even from you,​
like that picture you took of me,​
my polystyrene face and hair,​
a plastic gaze and rubber smile:​
the painting of an amateur,​
a sad, empty imitation.

So, forget about morning texts.​
Do not flinch if I break away.​
Never you mind to wait for me.​
Forget and go about your day.